It was hard for me to let go of that idea of art as redemption; of the creative act as a sort validation for suffering and disillusionment. Poetry seemed to me much more than mere consolation. But this feeling, I’m chagrined to say as I stare down the age of forty, was inextricably bound up for me in personal ambition (or, at least, a sense of personal worth). Everyone wants to be useful, but I long wanted to be praised, admired and recognized for my usefulness. It seems to me now, however, that poetry is indeed a “normative instrument” only when your ambition burns brighter for the work than for yourself.
— Gregory Crosby
Wade Rockett 